Homsar Rising
by The Moving Finger Writes
Summary: Strong Bad's upset by Homsar's sudden rise in the public eye, what with the posters and billboards and TV appearances. Is he just jealous, or is he really smelling a rat behind this sudden PR blitz?
1. Everything's Coming Up Homsar

Standard Disclaimer: Homestar Runner and Strong Bad and all the rest are the property of the Chapman Brothers. They most definitely do not belong to me.

Part I: Everything's Coming Up Homsar

It was a fine afternoon when Strong Bad, genius and definitely coolest guy in Free Country USA woke up on his basement couch. After shuffling the couch cushion he'd had his head under back into place, he proceeded to grope about for the remote.

"Ah, afternoon. So after...noon. What fine programming awaits Strong Bad right now?"

He clicked on the TV and began surfing channels with a lazy press of the button.

"Fluffy KennelPuff is the first canned desert food for dogs, and your Fido or Spot will love my ooey gooey flavor so much

they'll howl with delight and-"

**CLICK**

"Oh, that guy is just too creepy."

"Be sure to tune in to Channel 4 Action News for the latest story from our Action 4 News Chopper and-"

**CLICK**

"Man, too boring."

He clicked around for awhile, finding nothing but a stupid soap opera, and some dumb quiz show ("How Much Cheese Is in The Box? GUESS AND WIN!), and some dumb cartoons for the diaper-school set. Even the dinky little indie station had nothing on, unless you liked watching syndicated reruns of _Becker_ (with Ted Danson)or infomercials for car wax or junk like that.

Strong Bad clicked around some more until he came back to Channel 4. The Channel 4 Action News anchor-guy-type-person was babbling excitedly about the newest story being covered by the Action 4 Channel Newscopter right there in Free Country USA.

"Oh, well, maybe it's a-one of those car chases or something."

The aerial footage from the 4 Channel News Actioncopter looked down on a knot of gawkers milling about a billboard that

was just about to be unveiled.

"Oh boo! What kind of town is it when something as totally not-exciting as this is considered to be great infortainment? Huh?"

The billboard was revealed to have a large picture of none other than...Homsar? Along with the words "EVERYBODY'S WILD ABOUT HOMSAR!"

"Oh that's just swell! A freakin' billboard for the midget? Man, it's getting to where you can't go anywhere without seeing that little weirdo's face on some stupid poster or something. Why can't I be on posters all over the place? Like standing on top of a cliff overlooking a majestic lake or something? It would be too awesome."

He huffily clicked away to Channel 7, where they were showing a commercial for a new sitcom. Strong Bad's eyes narrowed at the screen...

"Be sure to tune in tomorrow for the brand new show Homsar's Place, starring that wacky yukster Homsar and The Homestar Runner! Tomorrow at 8!"

Strong Bad hopped up from the couch in a rage. "WHAT?" "No way, a sitcom deal? What is going on here? Am I some sort of crazy or what?" He mashed the channel change button on the remote. And...

"Here on Channel Ten News our Food Reporter Natalie Smith will be joined in the studio for a new weekly segment _'Cookin' Tips with Homsar'_. There'll be some great recipe hints and tips for you folks at hom-"

"Oh, that's it! THIS place is crazy! I can't even watch some fine television without running into Homsar! Man, a few weeks ago he was just that weird guy but now he's on MY tv a little too much! I gotta get out of here! Find something else to do!"

Strong Bad gathered himself up and marched out of the basement.

Yet he would not find solace strolling and gamboling and uh, jogwalking about Free Country USA.

Next: _Out and About_.


	2. Out and About

Standard Disclaimer: Homestar Runner and Strong Bad and all the rest are the property of the Chapman Brothers. They most definitely do not belong to me.

To recap: Strong Bad was just trying to enjoy some television when he realized the airwaves had a higher Homsar content than usual. Disgruntled with what appears to be a trend in increased Homsar exposure, he feels the need leave his house and get some fresh air...or something.

Part 2. Out and About

Strong Bad was going to head over to Bubs for a drink and a quick bite. Perhaps that would get his mind off the midget.

It was strangely strange, the sudden uptick in Homsar's multimedia presence. Only a few weeks ago, he was just like, that creepy guy who shows up once in awhile. Like that weird guy at the office you don't run into much because you're in different departments in totally different parts of the building but then you do run into him in the restroom or a busy hallway, and he's like talking to himself out loud or sniffing his fingers a lot. Or both.

Then poof. Posters started popping up. And signs, in people's yards and on fences. Even The Stick had had some Homsar sign stuck to it.

Now, a freakin' sitcom. Plus a cooking tips segment on the local news.

Man, Strong Bad was still burnt over that. Why was it, that cool guys like him had their awesome star potential ignored in favor of losers and C-list stand up comics? Where was the justice?

Strong Bad was considering this when he decided to cut through Strongbadia on the way to Bubs. He looked over his kingdom and was immediately cheesed off. Seriously.

Homsar posters were plastered over the fence that bordered the old lot and even one on the propped up stop sign. Most were miniature versions of the billboard he saw unveiled on the TV news earlier, Homsar's face on the left and "EVERYBODY'S WILD ABOUT HOMSAR" on the right.

"Oh, this is such, such vandalism! No respect for my glorious land here, it brings a moist tear to my eye."

"THE CHEAT! GET OVER HERE!"

Strong Bad's little yellow lackey responded almost immediately, appaering at his man's side.

"The Cheat, look at this mess! This wasn't here yesterday! How could you let this happen, I trust you to be on guard to protect our borders from enemy infiltrators!"

"Meh! Meh-meh-meh, MEH!" The Cheat responded in his squeaky lingo.

"Oohhhh, do we have to sleep sometime? Well, sell your sob story to someone who'll listen. Get those posters off and try not to leave any of that glue on there, OK?"

"Meh mehhhh..."

Strong Bad walked off. Past the fence, he yelled out "Get this side too, those guys got like four of those stupid posters on here!"

The Cheat just let out a small, drawn out "Mehhhhhh".

Strong Bad made his way to Bubs' Concession Stand via a short cut. He knew just the thing to cheer him up, and a couple of cheesy corn dogs sounded just right. That and Bubs was the one place around where a guy could like, just order a cup of blue snowcone flavoring and get it without having to explain it or justify it to some pimplefaced counterjockey dorkon.

When Strong Bad came upon the small brick box of a building, he immediately started running to it. He couldn't believe his eyes, for there were at least six Homsar posters plastered to the side of the stand. Strong Bad continued running around the back of Bubs' and saw more posters plastered to the rear wall, even one slapped on the back door. The same story for the other side.

Strong Bad came around the so far poster-less front, ready to make with the fierce, red-hot demanding.

"Hey Bubs, what gives? Why are all these stupid posters of the stupid guy all over your stupid stand? WHY? I ASK YOU!"

Bubs just shrugged. "I dunno. They just were there when I got here this mornin' y'know. Normally I don't let some chump try to get some free advertisin' space from me and tackyin' up my fine stand with posters, unless it's for a worthy cause like Homeless Squirrel Aid. But posters just like 'em were put up on my establishment for the past two mornin's and I tore down before openin' up but they keep comin' back up! Kinda spooky if you ask me!."

Strong Bad grumbled. "Ah, well...I'll have two of th' cheesy corndogs and a cuppa 'Blue'.

"Uh, I'm outta blue. I still got's Red, Green and Pineapple."

"Ohhhh, Red'll do. I guess."

Strong Bad fumed as he considered that even his familiar places were not immune to the ravages of this new Homsar PR ah-yuggernat.

At least he hadn't seen the actual weiner yet in awhile.

Strong Bad took a reflective sip of red flavoring. Something fishy was maybe in the air, and it wasn't those jars of pickled fish sticks Bubs kept behind the counter either.

Homsar hadn't even showed up to play board games with Stupid for weeks. Not since all this started going on...even a tiny thing like that was enough to make a genius like Strong Bad start thinking in a suspicious fashion for no particular reason.

"If there's something to get to the bottom of, then I will get to that bottom, really fast."

So, with a belly full of fried batter, turkey franks, melted American cheese and some Red sloshing around in there Strong Bad decided it was time to become Strong Bad, Ace Investigator under the cover of Strong Bad, Total Hard Hitting Journalist.

Next: _o/Come on down to Homsar's Place/for laughs to put a smile on your face' o/_ Catch it, Thursdays at 8!


	3. Come on Down to Homsar's

Part III: Come on Down to Homsar's Place

Strong Bad sat in the old office he used sometimes.

The blinds were down, allowing only faint daylight in through the slits. Strong Bad liked it dim in here, it helped him think. That's why he turned his face away, from the garish light of day. What with the blinds, and like leaving the single bare bulb off.

Between the dimness and the dark institutional green walls, it felt cool in here. Well, that and he had the 'Lil' North Wind' brand air conditioner on MEDIUM HIGH. His musing abilities required coolness of both the temperature and style kinds. From what he determined so far, Homsar's new sitcom was being filmed at that fruity marshmellow joint Homestar liked to go to. What better way to find out things than to ask questions? He was known for his dabblings in the field of total hard hitting journalism, no one would suspect that he was in fact there as an Ace Investigator.

A brilliant ruse.

Strong Bad put on a fedora. It was gray and battered and a little PRESS card stuck out of the band. He slid open a desk drawer to retrieve his trusty notepad and lucky pen (which had a 'Lil' North Wind' AC Systems logo down the side). He checked his reflection in a small mirror.

"Yeah, those people will simply not be aware they are in the presence of one of the a-keenest deductive minds since...um...that one...guy. I'm just Mr. Journalist, that's all! They will suspect nothing, the poor things.. BWAH-HAH-HAH-HAH!"

-

Later, Strong Bad casually strolled towards the fruity marshmellow joint. He took note of the four equipment trucks parked outside, the cables trailing out of an open side door on one of the trucks and the crew members standing around in little groups talking to themselves or walking about on vague errands. Strong Bad walked up to the front windows and inside he could see more crew members checking on equipment and cameras. Over in a corner past the Klieg lights and cables and such sat the little weirdo gnome-guy himself. Just sitting in a director's chair, and not doing anything else in particular.

Homestar was just sitting in a booth, gabbing at no one in particular.like the big stupid moron that he was. They were all ripe for the plucking, for he was the predator and they were the prey and...

"Hey pal, dis here is a closed set. So gidoutta here."

Strong Bad turned around to see a rather tall, broad-shouldered fellow standing behind him. Glaring down at him.

"Hey jack, I'm here as a representative of the free press of this free country of ours.!"

Instantly mollified, the large teamster-looking fellow merely shrugged and said, "Oh, OK. Go on in."

"Well, uh, thanks."

Strong Bad made his way in to Homsar, who now had a tall sunglasses-sporting type standing next to him going over a script. He decided to introduce himself.

"Strong Bad, Total Hard Hitting Journalist here. I'd like to ask a few questions about this production, if I may. I know it seems all impromptu and such...but I was a little lazy about scheduling an interview and all. I admit I may have a few faults. Is that a crime, to be imperfect?!?"

The director seemed non-plussed. "Oh, that's OK. Most of these people around here are just trying to look busy as per union requirements. We're in the middle of a break anyhoo. Right, Homsar?"

"Ahhhh-ahhh-ahhhhh, TAKE FIVE!" Then Homsar began humming what even Strong Bad with his metal heavy music tastes recognized as Dave Brubeck's signature work..

Strong Bad got his notebook ready, and began rattling off standard questions, which the director answered with the usual TV industry press-kit/soundbite non-answers. Finally Strong Bad worked up to, "I just wanted to know, do you people honestly thing this Homsar show is going to fly? Do you honestly thing that people are going to want to watch this little dumpus zip around and talk like a moron and engage in zany antics in a restaraunt?"

"Well," the director said, "there seems to be an audience for random antics coupled with blurted out non-sequiters and nonsense, so the people at the network and the production company Teal, Oshkosh & Kinboote Enterprising Enterprises and I, of course, signed on because we figured, "Let's give the people what they want, but with snazzy packaging and a catchy theme song!' So here we are. I tell you, you can feel the excitement in the air."

"So, I see. I must admit that sounds very sound to me." Strong Bad paused. "Where are these producer guys at so that I may get their thoughts on things? I'm just curious as to what they think and am totally not prying."

"Hmmm, I have their address around here somewhere. Let me go check in the office in the back." The director slunk off through a door, leaving Strong Bad with Homsar who was now humming "The Entertainer" and rocking lightly from side to side in his chair. Strong Bad decided to do a little sneaking to see what the director was doing. I mean, c'mon, ooooh, let me look for that address in the back. Was he being taken for some kind of idiot?

-

"I'm pretty sure that idiot fell for it. Listen, I was told to tell you if that dope in the mask ever showed up asking questions. Well, he's here and he's being as subtle as a elephant in a bathtub about it. I'll take care of this before that dumb-dumb gets a chance to do anything at all."

The director, who's professional name was Mitch Baddabingbaddaboom, looked down at the short figure who stood in the manager's office he'd temporarily taken over.

Mitch would have seemed to have gotten no response at all, except he repilied to something no one else heard. "Yeah, he is a big dope. We could take care of him easy. Just send him on a wild goose chase. That would be enough."

Silence. (Ominious!)

"It's good to know you agree. I'll give that luchadore looking loser some totally wrong, time wasting directions. Asides from that, you let Mr. 'The Man' know things are going...swimmingly."

Silence. (Oooooooh. Spooky.) Mysterious Person suddenly spun around and left out the back way. Director Mitch searched around for a piece of paper to write a totally fake address on with confusing directions, unaware that Strong Bad had been listening all this time through the door with a drinking glass.

"Who knew that the drinking glass trick would actually work? I'll have to remember that. Ooooh yes."

"Hey Stwong Bad, what awe you doing thewe?"

Strong Bad whirled around angrily at Homestar who'd just snuck up behind him, like the weiner had a nasty habit of doing. "Nothing! I'm just looking around the set, OK? Is that a crime or something to make a federal case out of?"

"Weww, it's just that glass you have is mine. I just weft it ovew hewe eawiwer but if you want to use it thats awwight, I don't-"

"Yes! Fine! Shuttup! Go away!" Strong Bad pushed Homestar away and scampered back to the director's chair and did his best to act all nonchalant and waiting-here-the-whole-time-not-sneaking-around-at-all-ish.

"Yeah, gweat. That's nice." Homestar said affably. The door to the manager's office opened and Mitch came out. "Oh hey Mitch! How you doing, we weady to put ouwsewves up on the gwowious smaww scween again?"

"Yes yes, we'll be ready to start shooting again in a minute. Just, uh, sit down over there again, 'kay babe?"

"Gotcha, babe!"

"Thanks Homestar, you're beautiful kid! Thanks for being so patient." Mitch muttered something to himself as Homestar went back to his booth.

Strong Bad and Mitch exchanged pleasantries and Mitch handed over the address with a crude little map drawn under it, the sort of thing a relative gives you as directions on your way to a family function so you can get confused and end up half an hour late and everybody wonders what took you so long.

"So you see, Mr...uh Strong, their office is WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY over here. I hope you can find it. It should be quite easy. Heh."

"Why thank you for your time, Mr. Baddabuhsomething. I assure you, this will totally add to all the other constant, non-stop Homsar coverage that's already out there."

With that, Strong Bad took his leave, not noticing Mitch the Director laughing to himself. Not much caring either, because as soon as he was out of sight he tossed the phony address away.

"It sounded mighty suspicious to me, all that funny business in the office. They think I'm a dope, do they? They'll learn that Strong Bad is not a dope, but rather just plain dope. Doper than them! Doper than that midget or anyone else around this backwards, no hope speck on the side of the road map! But first, homeward! And some microwave mini-pizza. Then I'll dig a little deeper. I'll dig up all the dirt, and dump it in their front yard for everyone to see and for birds to fly around and peck at!"

_Dun-dun-da-da-dunnnnnnnn!_

Part IV. _"We're through the looking glass here, people."_


	4. We're Through the Looking Glass Here

We're Through The Looking Glass Here, People

Strong Bad returned home with a head full of suspicions and a stomach rumbling for microwave mini-pizza. Such was the way of the Ace Investigator. He came banging in through the front door of his house and strode past a dozing, sprawled-out-on-the-floor-and-drooling-in-his-sleep The Cheat into the kitchen. As he prepared to open the freezer and grab a HottHottHottington Grande Micro-Pizza w/Canadian Baconized Type Topping he noticed two things. First, he could see out the kitchen window to Strongbadia. Well, he sort of knew that already. What he really noticed was that there were new Homsar posters up on the fence. That and his dumb baby brother Strong Sad was midway through pasting another one up, defiling Strong Bad's proud country!

Strong Sad wiped his brow as he surveyed his work. Good enough, until the next time the Cheat tore the posters down and chewed them up and spat them out and used the resulting mess for who-knows-what. Oh well, at least he was getting paid and -

"Hold up, dorkus! You traitorous dorkon! You turned against your own family, and my glorious state of Strongbadia!"

Strong Sad whipped around to stare at his brother's angry face...or at least his bright green eyes seemed to be set in an angry way.

"HOW MUCH are they paying you? WHO MUCH are paying you to do this?" Strong Bad shouted, furiously flailing his arms about in his brother's general direction.

Strong Sad retorted "Well now let's not get too upset. After all, you tried to sell me to a lab as a test subject for $40! Plus, you stole and sold all of my copies of my favorite manga (Strong Sad pronouncing it _mannnnn-gaaaahhhhh_ in a high-pitched lilt) _Doki Doki Darklord Funtime Cathedral Paradise Crazy Madhouse Pirate Plotters_ at the flea market! All I wanted to do was earn a little extra cash on the side, and what I've done is nothing compared to things you've done to me just to make some pocket change. So I get paid to put up posters, and make sure they're up all the time in our neighborhood just like all of the other poster folks all over town! What the big deal, really?"

Strong Bad surveyed his plump, elephant-footed doofdorkus of a brother with a suspicious eye. "So, people are being paid to put these stupid Homsar posters all over town, eh?"

"Yes!"

"Aaaaaaaand...you would know who hired you and who pays you, dumpus?"

"Yes, of course! Cold hard cash from..." Strong Sad paused "Oh no! This is a good thing I have going here. I know you don't like Homsar and if I tell you you'll probably go down there and mess things up for me! You'll never make me tell you anything about this!"

Strong Bad punched his brother in the gut.

Strong Sad clutched his middle, groaned and then sighed. "Alright, it's a building down the way, with a sign outside that reads Teal, Oshkosh and Kinboote Enterprising Enterprises. I go down, get posters and get cash. These people, they want the Homsar posters up all the time and I really didn't have anything to do since Homsar's been busy with his show and his public appearances and his book contract and..."

"BOOK CONTRACT! Oh, that's too much. I'm going to see what's what down there and find out what's going on. Homsar has no right to such popularity!" Strong Bad angrily stalked off, leaving his brother clutching his gut.

"Um...I think something burst inside me. Hello? 911? Somebody? Oh well." Strong Sad just stood there and groaned.

-

There wasn't much to the ugly red brick building. A narrow, two-story box with grimy windows and grimy front double doors with the paint flaking off. The only new thing was the sign mounted up front announcing in bold, downright sassy green letters that this was the headquarters of Teal, Oshkosh and Kinboote Enterprising Enterprises. Strong Bad mused on how this was the same outfit producing Homsar's stupid sitcom.

He stalked angrily (even more so since he realized he hadn't eaten yet in his excitement) into a dingy little lobby where a couple of sad sack looking types sat on couches and chairs apparently looted from the sidewalks on trash pickup day. At a service window set into the rear wall, a boring little clerical-type person rang a bell and said "Hey you, get your new load!" One of the sad sacks trudged up to the window and was handed a stack of posters. "Canvas the south side in your zone! Those Save the Homeless Squirrels posters are taking up too much space on those walls. Just paper over them." The sad sack nodded and trudged out.

"So, these people have recruited an army of losers to make sure there is no escape from Homsar's stupefying face-type visiage. Strong Sad fit right in and also...it's almost as if...as if someone wants there to be too much Homsar out there." Strong Bad stroked his chin. After putting on a pair of Groucho glasses, he strode up to the counter. The shrimpy clerical type looked up at him and asked sharply, "What do you want?"

Affecting a ridiculous attempt at what sounded like a vaguely Europe-y accent Strong Bad piped up, "I am Stong...Vlad. Stong Vlad. That is Stong Vlad. I would like to put up posters for a job, yes?"

Indicating a door off to the side with it's thumb, the clerical type said in a bored tone, "New hires go in back, jerk-o."

Strong Bad, sorry, Stong Vlad did as he was told.

--

As he headed down a corridor, Stong Vlad considered his ill-thought out plan. Should he meet with whoever did the hiring for this outfit, or snoop around? Snoop it was.

He snuck up a stairway to the top floor. It was quiet. Very quiet. There wasn't much up here asides from a central room that seemed to be an almost-copy of the lobby below sans furniture and counter. Just cracked blue-white checkered linoleum flooring and a couple of doors in the walls. One of which had a sign tacked on it which read in a scrawl of marker "NOBODY PEEKS IN HERE AT ALL OK?"

"My ace investigation skills lead me to conclude there may be something there to investigate."

Ready to snap into his hasty Stong Vlad guise if caught (and do the whole "I got lost on the way, sorry" routine) Strong Bad opened the door. What he saw...shocked him. An office full of charts and graphs, indicating there were enough resources to keep up the poster campaign for a long time, to paper over Free Country USA and it's environs with Homsar posters almost entirely. That wasn't all. Plans for even more billboards were in the works. There wouldn't be a place in the area where a Homsar billboard wasn't visible from a distance. Plus, these billboards would be bordered with blinking lights and such. No escape, no escape from this Homsar media blitz, paperwise.

"How horrible. Who would do such a thing, and why? Maybe there's a clue over here." Strong Bad began rummaging around a cheap desk in the center of the office, picking up a stack of memo pads. Suddenly he heard voices.

"That guy should have been to see you by now. I hope he's not snoopin' around!" It was the nasal voice of that clerical dorko from downstairs. A thicker, slower voice replied "Well he didn't. Boss said to make sure no one was snoopin' so that's what we do. Right boss?"

Silence. Footsteps getting closer. Out of options. Sentence fragments. Strong Bad turned about, desparately searching for some way out. A window in the rear wall, overlooking a grassy, weedy lot. Strong Bad quickly managed to jiggle the window up and open and began climbing out.

"HEY!" he heard behind him. Strong Bad turned to see three figures in the open doorway of the office. The skinny clerk, a rotund guy he assumed was the New Hires guy and a third figure...Strong Bad realized who that third figure was in a flash of recognition that stayed with him even as he tumbled from the sill and down onto a mound of soft dirt below. Strong Bad struggled and scrambled down the mound, across the lot and down a sidewalk, leaving behind only a lot of shouting and his Groucho glasses, lost as he fell.

Exhilirated and a little sore, Strong Bad realized who the who had to be but the why, the why still eluded him in a most elusive way. The logo on the memo pages he'd seen on the desk, as well as the on-site bossman he'd glimpsed...

Teal, Oshkosh and Kinboote. TOK, Enterprising Enterprises. The company behind the Homsar blitz, he suspected. Turn the TOK backwards and what did you have? KOT.

Plus the guy giving the orders, Strong Bad had seen him before during visits to a certan residence. A creepy little quiet guy who he'd last seen working in the kitchen at the castle of...the King of Town.

What was that stupid dork doing, trying to put that even stupider dork's face everywhere? Why? What warped plan did that butter-scarfing, babbling stupidface have? Plus, as his stomach rumbled, why didn't Strong Bad just grab something on the way out of his house that afternoon.

OK, first grab some nachos or possibly Nach-Os or something to eat. THEN confront the dumb King of Town. "Priorities, Strong Bad. Priorities."

Next time: Homsar Rising - The Exciting End of the Story. Though it'll probably be less than exciting.


	5. The Ending

Part IV: The Exciting Ending, that probably will be a letdown.

At the King of Town's goofy looking castle, a party of sorts was in the works. A party of one.

In his throne room, the King of Town was gorging himself on a canned ham slathered with butter and tartar sauce and sprinkled with powdered hot cocoa mix. It was only the fourth in a series of hams the goofy, powerless monarch planned to consume that day.

Everything was coming to fruition. Project Homsar **would** be a success and pave the way for his ultimate plan. A plan where he'd truly be the King of Town. No longer the uncool old dude no one wanted to hang out with or play video games with or gobble down whole sides of bacon soaked in salsa verde and covered in crumbled saltines with. Sure, he could order his servants to do so but it wasn't the same. People would love **him. **People would **WANT** to hang with the KOT.

As he began work on his fifth ham, the King sensed something...someone was in the throne room with him. Who...?

"OK you idiot, what's the deal with marketing that midget up and down the place? WHAT IS YOUR STUPID MORON PLAN?!?" Strong Bad stood nearby, having crawled in through a window. The King noted he should really get glass or bars over those windows some day.

"Doo hoo hoo hoo! Why, I have no idea what you're talking about Strong Bad. I'm just enjoying a little snack is all. I don't have any secret plans or corporate fronts or Project Homsars in the works!"

Strong Bad pointed a boxing glove right at the King's face. "AH HA, I knew you were up to something. Thankfully, you are such a idiotface...you make it too easy sometimes. TOK Enterprising Enterprises is your company isn't it? They're responsible for every Homsar related _thing_ I've been tortured with for the past few weeks! I saw your creepy little chef guy hanging around the office. He must have been keeping an eye on things for you. Why is it you are trying to turn Homsar into a media king, Kingy?"

Nervously, the KOT looked around, feeling on the spot. "Doo hoo, I'm going to make him popular. I'll make him too popular! Soon, everyone will be sick of Homsar and seeing him and hearing him. Then, oh then I'll stop and get rid of the sitcom, the book, the ads, everything. He'll be forgotten. Then I'll move on to...Homestar! Pom Pom! Coach Z! Even you! Homsar is a test, doo hoo! He's even more popular than me around here, so I'll make people sick of him, then I'll make everyone sick of everyone else more popular than me! MEDIA OVERSATURATION, DOO HOO! So then, I'll be the most popular King of Town in Town! People will love me as they should. No longer will I be a joke!"

Strong Bad considered things for a moment. "Really. That's a pretty dumb, badly thought out plan. Even considering YOU thought it up, it's pretty dumb. I mean, how do you expect to become popular just because you THINK you can make some other people unpopular?"

For a moment, the King of Town thought. As much as he could, that is. "Well, doo hoo. I really didn't think that far. Well, whatever. I will not stop, I've put too much time and effort into this! It will work, it must work! No one can stop me!"

Strong Bad punched the King of Town in the gut.

"All right. I need to make some phone calls, doo hoo doodily hoo. I'll shut it down. Everything. It was going to be so golden. GOLDEN!"

"Well your problem Kingy...one of them anyways, is that you're unpopular because you're a creepy weirdo who eats like a pig and no one likes being around you. You blew all this money and such on a big fat waste of time. Sad really. Tsk tsk tsk."

With that, Strong Bad left. The King of Town made some calls and began scarfing down hams as comfort food instead of as a celebratory feast. Many bitter tears were shed by him that day.

-

Within a week, the Homsar media juggernaut was done. The sitcom was canned. The one billboard plastered with Homsar's face had been replaced by an ad for Li'l North Wind Air Conditioning Systems. Homsar posters were removed from walls around town. Those that were left would fade or be covered over by other posters, forgotten. No Homsar on the evening news, no Homsar on the written page. The Homsar plague, started by the wildly misguided and inept KOT, was over.

-

While pleased that he could no longer turn on the TV and see Homsar's stupid face on it, Strong Bad realized that since he was no longer occupied Homsar would be hanging around again. Already he had come by the house today, annoucing himself with "Duuu-ahhhhhh-ahhhhhhhh, I TOLD YOU TOMMY, THEY MAKE A FINE CUP OF COFFEE HERE!" Now he was in Strong Sad's room, playing some weiner doofus dorkotronic board game with that little moronhead brother.

Strong Bad retreated to his basement sanctuary with a plate stacked with piping hot mircowave mini-pizzas and a hankering to watch some TV. Maybe...ah, a _Wackiest Pets and Car Crashes_ marathon. He hunkered down with The Cheat on the couch.

"You know, The Cheat, even though no one really knows I helped get Homsar off the air and stopped the town from being papered over in Homsar posters I don't mind not getting the rightful accolades I deserve. 'cause I'm a modest guy you know? Virtue is it's own reward. Or petard. Or something. Whatever."

"Meh meh."

"Just call me the Unknown Hero. Unknown Man. The Great Unknown. The Unknown Stuntman-" Strong Bad paused for a moment then broke out into warbly song "-_who makes Eastwood look so fine!_"

"Meh meh meh."

"Right, I'll stop that. Aren't we touchy?"

-

END


End file.
